It is early morning. The truck you are in is much like a tank. Smiling on the dashboard is a minature Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. He knows the secrets. Southern California is coming at you all around. You wiggle your toes and feel the sand in between, the sand that came from the Dune desert party you were at before... and when you left, what did you find on the way out?
The memory hits you. Some guy needed a ride, spoke German--the mind is a blur. He gets in the back of the tank, somehow manages to break the latch-down door right off. The moment it breaks, the world breaks with it. You are on your way home. You drop off the weird German guy.
Back with the Stay-Puft. He's smilling. It's all very postmodern. What's that noise in your head? That deep rumbling, its getting louder--must be remembrance of the sonic bass drums from that all night party, but wait--that yellow/orange smoke coming from out front of the Tank...
BOOM!
The driver manages to get the car over to the side of the road. It is dead. Two of you are in trip-mode, luckily the driver is not. On the highway a million cars zoom past, it is so difficult to understand. Where are you? What's going on? The car's on fire, and there's no driver at the wheel...
The driver tells you to stay put, walks over to a emergency phone down the way... you do so, but you see a tow-truck coming by. Something tells you to flag him down, which you do...
Somehow you can hear the driver on the phone, though he is several yards away. "Oh shit--a tow truck..." He comes running back. You can understand what he says, but when you get into the towtruck, after everything is all fixed up, you have a whole new difficulty.
"Osh nee bashto cah-dee blue?" the tow truck driver seems to say to you. Of course, later you understand everything that he had said, but at this moment in space-time all you can understand is a series of vowels, as if some kind of space-alien is talking through the tow-truck driver. You learn that he is a Texan-Mexican-American (in that order), that he has grandchildren he loves very much--one in particular loves to have fun, just like he can tell all of us in the car are having fun. You just smile, wiggle your toes... let the world go by.
Eventually you arrive at a familar gas station in Vista, CA. Your home city. You love it here. You have some money in the bank, you got it for graduating high school from the few relatives you know of. This money is for college, but that doesn't matter--fixing the tank is of primary concern, ain't it? So you and your other tripping friend take a step into the magical world of Kragen Auto Parts. Everything chrome metal, and shiny--Weird Science by Oingo Boingo (your favorite band at the time) playing from above. You feel like a space cowboy buying parts for your spaceship. You buy a battery. You spend a lot of money that you shouldn't. Doesn't matter, the CAR IS DEAD anyway, fool.
At the gas station there is a mechanic who will look at the car for free. This man is named the Duck. He seems to quack to you. He has a long, flowing white beard--very dirty, and wears a sweat-stained sweat-suit over his fat, lumpy body. He is disgusting. But he quacks. And he's carrying a case with the Lego logo on it, a lego carrying case in which he puts his greasy tools.
He confirms the death of the car. This has been a weird morning. It's time to go home and sleep it all off, if only the "oonksh, oonksh, oonksh" of those bass drums could stop in your head, if only you could stop knowing you've done psychedelic drugs when... | 
